


bo peep

by tagteamme



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: (mild), (not so mild), Breathplay, Keith in a maid outfit but it's not that deep, M/M, Office Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, also they're husbands, ba dum tsssss, only Shiro is, sorry I need to stop making terrible jokes in my fic tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-06-02 10:47:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19439884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tagteamme/pseuds/tagteamme
Summary: Keith’s not sure what he was thinking when he tried it on.Dressing up like a French maid from a no-budget porno isn’t exactly one of Keith’s best moments. Neither is thinking that he’d fit into a ladies’ medium-large as a grown man. Keith won’t blame himself for that part though. He tends to forget his own size sometimes after spending a lot of time in close contact with Shiro—  compared to him, Keith feels small.In the end, maybe he’ll blame the small ribbon collar he had picked up and tied around his neck for sparking his intrigue.





	bo peep

**Author's Note:**

> title is from [ this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3Nk0T_gnAT4), eventually I will have every line from this song as a title of a fic.
> 
> I know Shiro x 3 Keiths won the poll but I also had originally planned to publish on my actual birthday so uhhh please accept this instead. You might recognize it from some snippets I posted on Tumblr, I've just added 4k more words to it haha

Retrospectively, there are about five other people Keith could have gone to for this. In fact he’s pretty sure if he put Lance in a headlock, he’d have been able to get him to cut Keith out of the outfit. But Keith argues with himself that Shiro was the better choice because Shiro won’t try to take blackmail photos and Keith won’t have to steal his phone and dunk it into the garbage. 

It’s a mistake that he’s in it to begin with too, a mistake he’s not willing to admit to others. It had caught Keith’s eye when he was rummaging through an old, forgotten storage locker, looking for an engineering journal. It had pinged his curiosity enough that he had done a cursory check around before pulling it out. The fabric is soft and shiny and more comfortable than Keith anticipated; he’s pretty sure the outfit is a cheap Halloween one that comes sealed in a cellophane bag. 

Keith’s not sure what he was thinking when he tried it on. Dressing up like a French maid from a no-budget porno isn’t exactly one of Keith’s best moments. Neither is thinking that he’d fit into a ladies’ medium-large as a grown man. Keith won’t blame himself for that part though. He tends to forget his own size sometimes after spending a lot of time in close contact with Shiro— compared to him, Keith feels small. In the end, maybe he’ll blame the small ribbon collar he had picked up and tied around his neck for sparking his intrigue.

“Are you going to get me out of this or not?” Keith demands over his shoulder and Shiro nods silently, running a hand down Keith’s back from where the poorly made corset is laced up halfway. They’re standing in the middle of Shiro’s office, Shiro looming behind him. Ten minutes ago Keith had barged in, demanding Shiro extract him from the black and white outfit immediately. 

His shoulders are too broad for the puffy sleeves and the fake silk limits his movements, otherwise he’d have untangled himself from it a long time ago. As it is though, Keith’s getting a feeling that Shiro actually not that eager to get him out of the dress. 

Shiro had stared dumbfounded for a moment when Keith had first barged into his office. Keith had to repeat his request three times before it finally clicked for Shiro. Shiro engaged the security lock on his door without a word and stood up, mumbling something about wanting to get a better look. 

“Yeah,” Shiro replies but he sounds distant, like he can’t remember what the question was. He brushes Keith’s hair out of the way and circles a hand around the nape of Keith’s neck, pressing his thumb into the knob of his spine. He’s not even trying to make a half-hearted attempt in pretending to help Keith out. 

Keith makes an impatient noise anyways and feels hot air brush over the back of his neck. There is no press of lips though— just fingers tapping their own rhythm along Keith’s sides. To his credit, Shiro does start to slowly undo the lace ties around the sleeves. It relieves some of the pressure on Keith and he groans, attempting to roll his shoulders. The fabric makes a threatening sound as soon as it feels Keith trying to escape it, and Keith’s tempted to just shoot his hands upwards and tear the sleeves completely. 

Shiro rests his hand on the small of Keith’s back and Keith can practically hear him thinking. He’s about to prod Shiro, but Shiro speaks first. 

“Are those stockings?” Shiro murmurs, slowly dragging his hand down Keith’s back. Keith works hard to hold back a shiver. “Can I see?”

They are indeed stockings, because they had been tied in a bunch around the dress when Keith had found it and Keith’s not going to do anything half-assed. 

“Go ahead,” Keith grumbles, ready to get this dress off of him. The hand on his back leaves and suddenly there’s one on the rear of his thigh, large and warm. With no preamble it starts to draw up, pushing the ruffled fabric of the skirt. 

Keith starts to go a little red, very well aware that Shiro’s starting to put him on display for himself. Keith tries to act unaffected and crosses his arms over his chest. Or tries to. The dress is still too tight for him to move properly and Keith’s starting to wonder how he got into it in the first place. To make up for it, he turns up his nose and stares pointedly at the sealed door across the room. 

“There’s a hole in these,” Shiro observes and Keith’s about to ask where before he feels the hand on his leg shift and move to the inside of his thigh. 

It skims up, dangerously close to the crease of his leg and Keith finds himself automatically widening his stance. Shiro runs his thumb over the hose and Keith feels where the small rip in the material is, feels where Shiro makes skin-on-skin contact with him. 

When he had first tried the dress on, Keith thought he had looked comical. It was too tight without making him look svelte, and the corset barely did anything aside from pinch his waist a fractional amount and add another layer of discomfort. He had fully been prepared to get an amused grin and some bit of needling before Shiro extracted him. But this— this is leagues beyond that. 

Suddenly, Keith’s not too eager to get out of the cursed outfit. Not yet anyways because Shiro gives his thigh a squeeze and starts to push the rest of the ruffled skirt up with his Altean hand. The coolness of the metal can be felt through the mesh of the cheap hose, running circles over Keith’s rear end. Shiro’s hand reaches upwards to gently cup him between his legs and Keith feels the lightest amount of pressure. It’s enough to have him arch a little under Shiro’s touch.

“You look good like this,” Shiro’s voice has started to go rough around the edges. It’s low and filled with intent that makes Keith’s breath hitch with its suggestiveness.

Suddenly, the thought of Shiro bending him over his desk while pushing up his skirt comes to Keith like a vision.

He knows Shiro would be impatient and hungry, that they would both be. He knows that Shiro would pull apart the nylons and push Keith’s briefs to the side, that Shiro would be too hurried to make himself comfortable and do anything beyond unzipping the pants of his uniform. Knows Shiro would hook a finger in the black ribbon around his neck and tug as he took and took and _took_ — 

Shiro leans forward to press a kiss on Keith’s shoulder and Keith turns his head to look back at Shiro.

Keith’s met with a gaze that’s so alluring and dark with intent that he can’t help but part his mouth and try and lean back into Shiro’s touch. Shiro fulfills the unspoken request and licks his lips before he kisses Keith, wet and wanting. For all his calm and steady composure, Shiro’s tongue pushes insistently past the seam of Keith’s mouth. Keith lets him in eagerly and is rewarded with another squeeze between his legs, one that makes his knees go weak. 

Maybe squeezing into the too-tight dress has been worth it. There’s no scarcity when it comes to Shiro making his desire for Keith known but Keith always feels a jolt of pride when he manages to appeal to Shiro’s more primal instincts. Shiro’s running his flesh hand over the rip in Keith’s stocking, playing with it while he slicks his tongue against Keith’s. Keith’s going dizzy with their kiss and reaches down where Shiro’s Altean hand is rucking up his skirt. It pushes up further, exposing more than half of Keith’s ass and Keith hears Shiro inhale sharply.

“Are you gonna help me get this off or not?” Keith says as he breaks the kiss. His voice is a lot lower and huskier than he thought and Shiro hums in response before biting Keith’s bottom lip. There’s a soft ripping sound as Shiro tugs on the tear in the hose, pulling it into something larger.

“I think you need to give this more of a chance,” Shiro sounds somewhat distant when he speaks and Keith cranes his neck to see that Shiro’s still hypnotized, eyes gazing downwards. Shiro pulls further at the hose, tugging his hand upwards until the break in the fabric starts to follow him, pulling apart right above the seam. The next time Keith feels Shiro’s hand between his legs, it’s touching the bare junction of his thigh. 

Shiro flattens his palm and thumbs along Keith’s front in circles and Keith lets out a soft sound. He hangs his head between his shoulders as Shiro continues to palm him, and reaches down to hold onto Shiro’s forearms for support. Instinctually, Keith rocks back against Shiro, the fabric of the skirt catching on Shiro’s belt. 

“Fuck,” Shiro swears, sounding so affected it makes Keith’s head spin. “Baby, you can’t walk in here looking like this.”

Keith’s about to ask what exactly that means when he finds himself getting spun around. Shiro grabs the back of his thighs, hitching him up fast, and Keith barely manages to wrap his legs around Shiro before Shiro is cupping the back of his head. He pulls Keith down in a crushing kiss that knocks his breath out completely. It’s normally Keith that kisses like he’s trying to maul Shiro but this time, it’s Shiro that’s biting his lips too hard and clacking their teeth together. 

It’s hard to move but Keith tries his best, draping his arms across Shiro’s shoulders. He wants to pull him in with as much ferocity as possible, but the limited mobility of the dress leaves him unable to do so.

Keith’s so drawn in on the kiss that he doesn’t even notice they’re moving till he feels his height suddenly drop as he gets deposited onto Shiro’s desk. His back hits wood and paper and Shiro slots himself more comfortably between Keith’s legs. He rolls his hips forward and Keith groans as he feels just how interested Shiro is. 

He can’t exactly reach for Shiro so Keith hoists up more of his skirt instead, letting his legs fall apart. Shiro pushes off him, grabs his thighs and when he stands back up, he looks more hot and bothered than Keith’s ever seen him. Shiro yanks Keith’s legs to bring him closer and pushes a hand between them to decimate the stockings even further. He hooks Keith’s calves onto his elbows and thrusts forward, like he’s already in Keith and they don’t have layers and layers of cloth between them. 

Keith arches when he feels how hard Shiro is, can’t quite make eye contact with him otherwise he’ll incinerate on the spot. Now that he’s on display, now that Shiro looks ready to devour him, Keith can barely remember what problem he had with this dress to begin with.

He can barely remember anything, really; Keith’s just filled with the base desire to have Shiro act out immediately on whatever fantasy is running behind his eyes. He’s about to tell Shiro in no uncertain terms to take him till he can’t think at all anymore, but Shiro beats him to the punch. 

“Can I fuck you?” Shiro’s voice is so low, filled with grit that makes Keith’s toes curl. Keith nods furiously, tries to draw Shiro closer with his legs because there’s nothing more he wants right now than to have his extremely gifted husband in him. 

It’s not their first office tryst, but it just might be their most frantic. Shiro retrieves the lube from the locked desk drawer with a look of impatience and shoves it into Keith’s hands while he gets to work on his underwear.

Shiro seems to be of two minds, wanting to see Keith bare and also see his legs wrapped in nylon. He compromises by making sure the hole he tears in the hose is large enough for him to grab Keith’s briefs and give it the same treatment. The tearing of the heavier fabric has Keith shivering. It distracts him long enough that he doesn’t realize he’s getting flipped onto his belly till he’s suddenly facing the dark mahogany of Shiro’s desk. 

“I’m gonna blow you after, okay?” Shiro promises just as Keith feels the first press of a slick finger. “Want you to ride my face while you’ve still got this thing on.”

Keith slams his hands on the edge of the desk below him and lets it a sharp noise as Shiro continues to speak filth about what exactly he wants Keith to do in the dress. Keith’s getting so hard it’s painful, even with the discomfort of a second and third finger stretching him and getting him ready.

It’s too much and not enough at the same time, even when Keith tries to grind back in Shiro’s hand and get more. He’s sweating through the cheap fabric already and when Shiro crooks his fingers just right, the corners of Keith’s vision starts to blur. 

“Shiro—” Keith starts in a pleading tone that he hopes Shiro recognizes. And Shiro does, because he slowly withdraws his fingers.

It’s clear that Shiro’s watching because he normally likes to drape himself over Keith in this position and latch onto his shoulder while he takes himself in hand. This time, Keith can feel his presence hovering over him as Shiro lines himself up. His Altean hand presses down on Keith’s back as he starts to push in, slick and heavy. Keith’s eyes start to roll to the back of his head when he feels Shiro in him, large and demanding as he slowly eases in. 

Halfway in, Shiro pauses. Keith’s about to tell him that he’s fine, that he doesn’t need the room to breathe, that he wants Shiro in him fully _now._ But he’s cut off by a finger tracing around the nape of his neck before reaching up and hooking itself through the collar Keith’s wearing. 

“You know how to tell me to stop,” Shiro says roughly and Keith nods furiously in reply.

It’s the last coherent thing he does because Shiro starts pushing the rest of the way, tugging on the collar as he seats himself. The tightening ribbon constricts his throat and Keith can barely breathe as Shiro rocks back and forth, easing himself in slowly till he’s bottomed out, as deep in Keith as he can be. 

Shiro keeps his thrusts gentle as he gets Keith used to it, the calmness of his movement belied by how tight he grips Keith’s collar. Keith thinks about how it must look, him bent over a desk in a raunchy black and white dress while Shiro stands behind him in full uniform, completely wrecked.

Keith’s not much into looking at himself during sex but this is the one time he wish there was a mirror across the room, just so that he could see how dishevelled Shiro is. 

The desk rattles softly on one of Shiro’s harder thrusts and Shiro slows down to a halt, the opposite of what Keith wants. He lets go of the collar and Keith’s about to use that new air in his lungs to complain when he feels Shiro withdraw and snap back in, faster than he’s been going. Keith hisses a “ _yes”_ and Shiro repeats the movement again, once, twice, three times before coming to a stop again. 

“You’re going to ruin me,” Shiro says from above him and Keith wriggles against him, impatient.

Shiro’s hand snakes down to the ties of the corset. They’re only halfway done and Keith feels him try to untie the rest with his hand. Keith manages to catch his breath but wants to lose it back immediately, wants Shiro to move. _Now._

“It’s fine,” Keith says, trying to push back, trying to urge Shiro on as he continues to fumble with the tire. “It’s fine, Shiro.”

He feels Shiro twist his hand and sigh with irritation before he presses a large metal palm against the back of Keith’s head. Obediently, Keith goes down and Shiro withdraws partially. 

There’s a beat where nothing happens, a moment that stretches too long. It’s instantly forgotten when Shiro thrusts back in, so hard and demanding that Keith sees stars. The corset around him tightens, knocking the air out of his lungs, and all he can do is choke out a moan as Shiro moves. 

“Shiro,” Keith gasps as the material around him restricts further every time Shiro thrusts into him. “Shir-oh, _oh—_ “

The carefulness from before forgotten, Shiro fucks into him hard enough to send Keith up onto his toes. He grips the edge of the desk harder, knuckles going white, and the corset around him squeezes more as Shiro drives into him over and over again. 

Keith manages to muster enough energy to push up against Shiro’s hand. For a brief moment it keeps him pinned as its owner fucks him, but it finally relents and allows Keith up enough to look over his shoulder. He sees the edge of Shiro’s hand, strands of white silk hanging from it as he uses the corset ties for leverage. Keith’s running out of air fast but he can’t help but moan at how hot and heavy and powerful Shiro feels inside of him.

“Babe,” Shiro’s breathless too, like he can’t quite get enough. Keith sinks his head back between his shoulders, feeling his legs trembling. Shiro picks up the pace, his hips bruising Keith, the buckle of his belt cold and unforgiving against Keith’s skin. Tears prickle out of the corner of his eyes and Keith wishes he had worn something like this a lot sooner.

Shiro is so calculated in his control that seeing him lose it like this is going to be a point of pride for Keith for a long, long time to come. 

It’s too much, so much that Keith yanks one of his own arms up so that he can bury his face into the crook of his elbow. The stitches of the sleeve pop as he does so but Keith doesn’t care; he just wants to muffle his sounds before they turn into screams. He chokes back sobs, head going dizzy as he rapidly runs out of air and races quickly towards an edge. His mouth drops open and his tongue lolls out, and Keith can slowly feel himself start to black out in the best way.

All he wants to do is stay like this, trapped in a liminal space between consciousness, aware of nothing but how Shiro is using him. His entire body is shaking and he can’t even move enough to touch himself and finish himself off completely. Keith wants to ask Shiro to do it, knows he doesn’t need to because Shiro doesn’t need to be told, he always takes such good care of Keith—

Air rushes through Keith’s lungs as suddenly and the vice grip around his ribs suddenly falls away. He’s barely present enough to hear a _snap snap snap_ sound before he sees the corset being tossed off in front of him. Shiro pulls out completely and Keith whines at the loss, rocking back and trying to chase it again. Two hands grab his hips and flip him onto his back again, immediately pawing at the front of his dress. 

“Need to see you,” Shiro says, as if Keith needed any sort of explanation. He ducks down and kisses Keith as he gets to work on tearing apart the zipper for the dress. It’s sloppy and distracted and Keith shimmies underneath, trying his best to help Shiro through his haze. 

They manage to free Keith from the sleeves, and the top of the dress slides off enough for Shiro to have access to Keith’s chest. He starts to trail wet bites down Keith’s neck, pushing down the collar of the dress to make room for him as he goes down. Keith arches when he feels Shiro brush his lips over his pectoral and Shiro hums, the sound vibrating across Keith’s skin. Keith feels a graze of teeth over where he’s most sensitive and he’s so glad he can move his arms now and twine his fingers through Shiro’s hair.

Keith wants to encourage Shiro, but his body’s also starting to feel too empty. He squeezes and tugs and Shiro lets Keith yank his head up, shooting him a dangerous look through his eyelashes. 

“Sorry baby,” Shiro licks his lips, his eyes roving all over Keith like where he doesn’t know where to look first. “I should be taking more time with you.”

“Later,” Keith’s voice is strained, cracks over the second syllable. “I’ll wear it again later, you can take your time then.”

“I’ll buy you a better one later,” Shiro says more to himself than Keith, but acquiesces as Keith lets his hair go. “Jesus, I can’t believe you. Can’t believe I have you.”

That makes Keith burn more than anything else, so he throws his forearm over his eyes. Metal fingers dig around his wrist and pry off his arm, pinning it above his head on the desk. Keith gets to see Shiro loom over him, disheveled with his cheeks a bright red as he pushes Keith’s legs apart. 

Shiro hisses as he pushes in, his forehead glistening in the office light. He’s still in full uniform and selfishly, Keith wants him to stay in it while he fucks him. Keith hooks his legs around Shiro’s waist but Shiro hauls up his calves one at a time to rest on his shoulders.

Keith feels obscenely exposed like this, knows he’s making a mess of the rucked up dress and what’s left of his briefs from how much he’s leaking. With a soft kiss to the inside of Keith’s calf followed by a powerful snap of his hips, Shiro bottoms out in him again, this time more impatient. 

An inhuman sound tears from Keith’s throat and they’re off again, Shiro driving in with a brutal pace from the get go. The desk shakes underneath them, forgotten papers scattering around while pens roll off the rattling surface. 

Shiro doesn’t lean over Keith, doesn’t bend down to kiss him and bite him and mark him like he normally does. Keith tries to rise up to meet him, to cling onto him maybe, but Shiro’s hand keeps him firmly pinned down. Shiro is unashamed in the way he watches Keith, gaze predatory as he fucks into him hard and fast. 

Somehow, Keith manages to muster up just enough effort to reach between his legs, under the ruffles and the scratchy tulle and touch himself, digging his fingers past the snapped band of his ruined underwear. He thinks he hears Shiro grit out an “oh, _fuck_ baby” as Keith starts to weakly stroke himself and it’s all that he needs to have his vision white out when he comes.

Shiro fucks him through it, shallow and fast as he starts to twitch as well, chanting Keith’s name with a broken voice. By the time Shiro’s spilling in him with a loud moan, Keith feels like he weighs nothing.

“Holy fuck,” Shiro breathes as his hips stutter, riding out the high and Keith’s hard pressed to disagree. He still stares at Keith with an intense sort of hunger that tells him that even if they have to finish their day like responsible adults, Shiro’s not going to let him go once they’re in the privacy of their own quarters.

“Fuck, Keith.”

If either of them last that long.

Keith thinks he only just got back his ability to breathe. Oxygen fills him for what feels like the first time and he manages to shoot Shiro a weak smile, one that Shiro returns with a huff. Keith winces as Shiro slips out and when Shiro slides his hand under Keith’s back to haul him up, he shakes his head.

“You’re not moving me,” Keith groans, the first coherent sentence he’s been able to string together. “Not for another five minutes.”

“Let me get you somewhere more comfortable,” Shiro says, and frowns down at Keith. “And into something more comfortable. I have some clean gym clothes somewhere in this office.”

“Good to know,” Keith replies dryly. “Maybe next time, I’ll wait till you’re out of the office.”

There’s no heat behind his words and Shiro returns them with a sheepish smile. He releases Keith’s wrist from the Altean arm and Keith rolls his wrist, bringing it down to see the soft bruising starting to form around it. Shiro gets a pinched look when he sees it so Keith reaches up for him and grabs him by the front of his officer’s jacket.

Shiro goes along as Keith tugs him down, and Keith doesn’t have to say anything to get Shiro to kiss him soft and sweet, the way he likes after they have a particularly intense round. Keith’s everything feels sore, even his lips, but he’s too blissed out to care. Shiro cards fingers through his hair to massage his scalp as they kiss and Keith feels himself involuntarily purr at the action, the rumble coming from deep within his chest.

“You’re so unbelievably hot,” Shiro murmurs between the kisses and the lack of saccharine poeticism that usually follows in the afterglow confirms to Keith that they’re not quite done yet. Eventually, Keith allows Shiro to move him off of the desk and deposit him on his leather office chair instead.

Shiro peels off Keith’s underwear and stockings, using the dry part of the cloth to wipe Keith down as much as he can before he strips Keith of the dress completely. Keith knows he’s going to need another shower after this, if he can stand for more than a few minutes under the hot water. As it is, he’s ready to shirk off whatever remaining duties he has for the day in favour of going back to their place and crashing till Shiro comes home for the night and stands him under a warm spray.

True to his word, Shiro finds a fresh shirt and a pair of sweats for Keith to slide into. Keith’s at the point where he can’t even remember what his remaining duties were, and wonders if Shiro will let him nap in his chair like a cat. His legs feel like jelly and he feels warm and satiated inside. Most of all, he’s feeling incredibly lazy. 

“Are you falling asleep?” Shiro prods Keith from where he’s standing in front of him, and casts a glance around them. The desk is a mess and papers and pens are scattered all around the floor. 

“Don’t ask me to clean,” Keith yawns and Shiro snorts. “All this is your fault.”

Shiro flushes and rolls his eyes to try and hide it, but Keith grins and kicks at Shiro’s shins lazily anyways. “I’m not asking you to clean. I have to go in ten minutes but you can sleep in here if you’d like.”

Keith would very, very much like. Maybe then he can gather enough energy to go hunting through storage lockers for another outfit that’d make his husband frantically bend him over whatever horizontal surface is available.

“What do you want me to do with the dress?” Shiro asks, holding up the black fabric. “Want me to throw it out?”

Keith stares at the bundle. He wonders if Shiro is serious about buying him a proper dress similar to this one; Keith doesn’t care too much for the look, but he’s more than interested in getting fucked in a pile of silk. He’s also a great fan of anything that’ll make Shiro lose his composure like he did today.

“It’s okay,” Keith says, reaching out for the dress.

It’s ruined but maybe not beyond repair, and even though he only knows the most utilitarian of stitches, Keith thinks he can rework this into something new. Shiro raises an eyebrow, and Keith answers with a grin that gets him going pink again. “I think I kind of like it now.”

**Author's Note:**

> we LOVE porny visuals in this household please check out the [art that the absolutely talented hami made](https://hamlinart.tumblr.com/post/178328447420/also-hey-holy-shit-i-didnt-know-i-needed-shiro) and [the art made by the amazingly fantastic cruelisb](https://twitter.com/CruelisB/status/1165756201696731136) you guys are SO talented and I absolutely DO NOT deserve you
> 
> catch me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/tagteamme/) or [tomblr](https://phaltu.tumblr.com/)


End file.
